"There's gonna be days..."

I hadn't heard of David Ramirez before today. His song "The Bad Days" played at the end of a movie I was half-watching. It struck me, drawing me in so unexpectedly. I found myself listening closely.

“The Bad Days” describes my marriage. Probably a lot of people’s marriages.

My love story with my husband started strong. We fell in love quickly, getting married after just five months of dating. It just felt right. I knew he was “the one.” This step shocked most of our family members, who assumed I was pregnant or that we had simply lost our minds.

The truth? The Universe brought us to each other.

We were both thirty-two, seeking the kind of love we believed could last forever. And while that love has been tested in ways I never could have imagined, it has stood strong. But no one prepares you for the trials of marriage. Not even at thirty-two.

When we married in 2012, I was sober, attending nursing school, and full of possibilities. Andrew was beginning his career at a local shipyard and serving in the Air National Guard. We were on paths that would require growth and adaptation from each other.

Right from the beginning, Andrew became the father of my two daughters from a previous relationship, and we had our first son on the first anniversary of our marriage. Blessings were abundant.

But the honeymoon period didn’t last forever. Life soon knocked on our door, and we had to fight for what we believed in: our preordained love for each other and a marriage that could withstand the toughest of times.

When my husband was deployed in 2015, he came back struggling with the demons of war that many veterans face. War changes a man. We missed each other immensely during his deployment. He did what he was trained to do, but he couldn't escape the weight of the experiences and the unparalleled awareness that a war zone demands. Those experiences came home with him, and it took years to process them.

I had no experience as a military wife. The eight months he was gone left me traumatized. I was raising three small children while working full-time at the hospital on an understaffed floor, providing care to acutely and critically ill patients.

I gave birth to our second son while he watched on Skype during his deployment. My husband couldn’t hold Gabriel until I picked him up from the Air National Guard parking lot when he returned to the States. I had changed during that time.

What he didn’t know was that the narcotic medication I was prescribed after my c-section led to a relapse in my addiction. I couldn't stop seeking the drugs after the doctors stopped prescribing them. This eventually led to drinking, and a slew of other habits I had remained abstinent from during our first three years of marriage.

Andrew was unprepared for this, just as I had been unprepared for the process he went through when he returned from deployment. We were both going through our own struggles, trying to help each other the best we could, even as broken versions of our former selves. These were the darker years in our marriage, overshadowed by our distinct personal traumas.

Ramirez’s lyrics reflect what we felt:

"There's gonna be days when you hate me
There's gonna be days when I make you mad
There's gonna be days when you don't know what we're doing
Maybe some days you wish you could take it all back."

For a while, maybe even years, I don’t precisely recall, we didn’t know what we were doing. We faced personal struggles the other couldn’t understand or relate to, and frustration turned into anger. I feared Andrew would leave me. My addiction was evolving into something I couldn’t control. As he returned to his civilian job—an overnight shift—I blamed him, feeling like he wasn’t supporting me the way I needed. I was left alone at night to care for the children, including our new baby girl born in 2017.

It was true—nothing could have prepared us for this moment in our marriage. Was our love strong enough to overcome the pain and allow us to grow together? Or would we separate because of our differences?

Thankfully, I was given the help I needed, though it required me to be fired from my job and enter the Monitoring Program through the state. Andrew was able to transition to a proper day job, making him available at night to help with all five of our children. Together, we battled our demons.

I kept my nursing license after completing five years in the program. Andrew fought by my side, holding me accountable for my sobriety. I fought alongside him, helping him adjust back to civilian life, focusing on his family, and creating a safe space for us all. He continues to thrive in his career.

I relapsed a few more times, with this last one being the worst in the past year. But Andrew found a way to relate to me in ways he never had before. He reached me through the faith it would take to bring me back to the light and remind me of what recovery really takes.

Ramirez's lyrics ring true:

"But hold on strong
And don't let go
We'll carry on. I know we can find a way
'Cause you're still my girl in the bad days."

Through all the hard times, Andrew and I have been brought closer together. We were divinely meant for each other. We found the strength to grow through the challenges, to adapt to each other’s personal changes, and our bond only grew stronger.

We are among the lucky ones. It would have been easy for either of us to give up and walk away, to create new paths for ourselves. Instead, we chose to walk together. We chose to find a way to make it work, even on the bad days.

Those bad days will pop up, as they always do. We have to double down on our commitment to each other.

No one prepares you for the challenges of marriage. They will be unique to each relationship, but they are challenges all the same.

When I look back, I am amazed by our ability to grow and walk side by side. We’ve learned to give without taking. We parent with gentleness while setting the necessary boundaries our children need to grow into responsible adults.

This random song, at the end of a random movie, made me reflect on these aspects of my marriage. We survived because we met each other face-to-face. It didn’t make our challenges any easier, but it brought us closer.

In the end, as Ramirez notes:

"And I hope the years that we come up short
Are swallowed by the years that we make it work
And I pray the times that our love is sweet
Outweigh the days that you hate me."

Our love is truly sweet. It outweighs the days of insecurity and anger. Even when we come up short, we find a way to make it work. And for that, I am forever grateful.